


Home

by marnies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Autumn, Cookies and Pie, Dean is a housewife, Fluff, Gen, God this is so fluffy, Good times, Halloween, I was actually going to post this on Halloween, I'm proud because there's no real swearing, Lots of candy, M/M, Sam is a narcoleptic moose, Since it didn't end up making sense in s13, The Babadook - Freeform, but here we are, fall - Freeform, god i want candy, horror movies, season 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 06:43:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12359790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marnies/pseuds/marnies
Summary: The morning sun fell on Home’s face, wind swept up deep scarlet leaves by his feet, and Castiel thought maybe he was in love with Fall. Maybe he was in love with something else entirely. Dean gave him a crooked smile.It must have been the color red.





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Hey, it’s Halloween! First of all, I’m sorry I keep deleting and reposting Merchants of Death. I just can’t decide if I like it as a series or not. I’m not dissatisfied with the quality, it’s just that the whole thing feels redundant, and I’m not sure if I feel like putting additional effort into it, when it’s perfectly fine as is. I’ll find some other excuse for Sam H/C. I don’t know.  
> Speaking of redundancy, this story is meant to have parallels to Netflix and Turtles; it’s sort of like it, but set in a later season, actually on Halloween. It can still absolutely be read on it’s own. It has no climax or plot, just an aimless bundle of fluff.  
> Also, I’m super proud because this one only has, like, two sort-of swears, and they’re nothing worse than they already say on the show. My mom would be so fucking proud if she read my gay fanfic.  
> The prompt I used was “A promise, the color red, and an unwelcome guest.” Thanks for reading!

His name was Castiel. Sometimes he was ‘hey, you,’ and sometimes ‘Soldier #536,’ but still, ultimately Castiel. That was the name someone who even angels seemed to have forgotten had given him at the beginning, and that was the name he would continue to introduce as for countless centuries.

“Who are you?”

“Castiel.”

He had never hesitated before. It was his name, and he knew it was.

“I want to talk to Cas alone.”

“Cas, I’m sorry.”

“Damn it, Cas.”

It was a simple and natural change, so much so that he had barely noticed at first. Maybe it was customary that Dean had a nickname for every person he spent time with. Maybe three syllables was too much for him. Maybe…

“Cas, buddy, I need you.”

His name was Castiel, but he supposed Cas was too.

The bunker’s door made a hearty thunking sound when he knocked. Knocking was something he had had to get used to; in the past, he would simply appear inside whatever motel room the Winchesters were residing in for the night, and find out later if they were each awake and presentable. After they had moved into the Men of Letters’ bunker, Dean and Sam seemed to have found some deeper sense of privacy, and home, and _theirs._ They’d become uncomfortable with Cas appearing without warning, and so he’d taken to knocking.

Sometimes he wondered whether he was welcome at all.

Cas heard the sound of laughter from inside, and smelled food cooking. The brothers likely hadn’t heard him. He knocked again, and the conversation broke momentarily before the sound of footsteps came up the stairs and closer.

“Sam, I’m sorry, but Obama’s not coming ba--”

The door opened. Dean’s smile dropped and so did Cas’s heart.

“Hello, Dean.”

It was a moment before Dean composed himself. Cas waited and wished he would start smiling again.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“I was looking into a possible case nearby,” he tried, “I think it may be something you and your brother--”

The look on Dean’s face made him want to fly away right then.

“Cas, do you know what day it is?”

“Uh…” He was uncertain of the significance. “Tuesday, the thirty-first.”

“It’s Halloween.” Dean had that incredulous look on his face that Cas noticed was, more often than not, reserved especially for him. “Y’know, junk food, candy, crappy horror movies... We’re taking the day off.”

“Oh.” Cas had never totally understood the modern Man’s need to celebrate Sam Hain, but clearly Dean was set on it. “I apologize. I assumed… I’ll just--”

“Well, c’mon in.”

Castiel complied.

The food he had smelled earlier had turned out to be a lot of food; on the counter were two kinds of pie and a pot roast, and in the oven was a tray of cookies. Sam was at the counter snacking on an unnecessarily large bowl of candy, wrapped in a blanket with little cartoon ghost designs on it. He gave some one-handed gesture resembling a wave, and Cas greeted him. It was only then that he noticed Dean’s apron, which had a print like a human skeleton on it, though not even slightly anatomically correct. He decided not to comment.

“Help yourself to some apple pie,” Dean said.

Sam swallowed a sizable chunk of caramel. “What? You didn’t let me have any.”

“That’s because you’d eat the thing in a bite. Be patient and drink your milk.”

Sam took a swig of what could’ve been bourbon (Cas found it hard to differentiate between many of the more potent alcoholic substances), but he didn’t look happy about it.

Dean mumbled something to Cas about loosening the kid up, but he found himself distracted by what he was doing. He’d never thought of Dean as domestic in the least, but there he was, slipping on oven mitts that matched his apron, pulling a tray of gooey chocolate chip cookies out of the oven, and murmuring softly to Cas about the kid he loved so much. He had on an old t-shirt and flannel pajama pants underneath the apron, and his hair looked soft and fluffy, like it had just been washed and towel-dried. Somehow, he radiated _safety_ , something Cas had never quite felt before. Feeling almost drunk in the presence of him, Cas felt the need to say something he couldn’t put into words.

“You’re warm,” he settled on.

“I’d prefer ‘smoking hot,’ but I’ll take what I can get.” Dean was giving him an odd look. “Let’s take this to the TV room.”

‘The TV room,’ turned out to be Sam’s room, where the two of them plopped down on his neatly-made bed. Dean clicked the television on while Sam scrolled through Netflix. Even more so now, Cas felt a sense of unbelonging; he shouldn’t be allowed this. He started to panic.

“I should go.”

And just like that, Dean was on his feet. All the domestic charm he’d shown minutes ago was gone. He stormed to the doorway where Cas lingered, so he could stand as uncomfortably close as possible.

“No.”

“But I--”

“What? Are the undead rising? Is it raining lava? Are the angels calling you back? Or do you just hate to be around us that much?” Cas was about to retort that two of those things were perfectly plausible and valid excuses, but Dean continued. “You’re always leaving us, Cas. Just this once, please stay.”

Cas thought he heard his voice crack, just a bit. He said nothing.

“Please,” Dean said.

He swallowed. He was being a pusilanimous fool. It wasn't fair to Dean.

“I promise,” Cas whispered.  
A throat cleared inside the room.

“Am I going to pick the movie, or are you two gonna sit down?”

The movie they decided on was _The Babadook,_ because of something Sam had read on Tumblr a long while ago. Cas was a little underwhelmed by the horror aspect of the film, and from the looks of it, so were Sam and Dean. None had the energy to find something else, so they kept it on, and about half an hour in, none were even paying attention.

Much of Cas’s attention was directed at Dean, and how he seemed to be inching closer and closer. With the three of them crammed against the headboard of one, queen-sized bed, and none of a petite stature, Cas presumed he was simply adjusting himself, and inadvertently scooting closer. But still, every minute, Dean shifted, pressing himself against Cas’s side. The twenty-third time it happened, Cas spoke up.

“What are you doing?”

Dean grunted and elbowed him again. “It’s not me, it’s Miss Lightweight.”

Cas leaned forward to look beyond Dean, and found that Sam was indeed leaning heavily against Dean, snoring lightly. Cas supposed it was justifiable, considering they were already in Sam’s bed, the movie wasn’t particularly loud or exciting, and the clock on Dean’s laptop, which lay at their feet, read 1:45am. Considering his regular sleep schedule, Cas was surprised Dean wasn’t snoring as well.

They couldn’t exactly kick him off his own bed, but with time Sam shifted, somehow ending up sprawled across Dean’s lap, head pillowed on Cas’s thigh. Dean sighed, but otherwise remained silent. The movie ended and another began, though neither really noticed. Cas indulged instead in listening to the brothers live; Sam’s breath soft on his leg, and Dean’s steady pulse by his side. Once Sam had moved to a horizontal position, there wasn’t really a need for those conscious to be pressed together so closely, but Dean didn’t mind so Cas didn’t either. He listened to Dean’s heartbeat slow, his breath even out, and became transfixed with the rhythm of him.

_Inhale._

_Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba--_

_Exhale._

_Bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump._

He was certain his charge had fallen asleep, which was why Dean surprised him by speaking.

“Why did you want to leave?”

“Well, I…” Cas wasn’t entirely certain. Did he dislike the two? Did he feel unsafe? Or did he just not deserve the comfort, the company, and the deep sense of home his two only friends filled him with? “I just don’t feel--”  
Cas had never understood the expression, ‘my heart skipped a beat,’ before. But when Dean brushed a finger over his skin, every nerve of his vessel seemed to tingle, sending shockwaves through his bloodstream and halting the beat of his celestial heart.  
“Do you feel that?”  
He could feel it. His heart started pumping again and kept on, and for the first time in a long time he felt that was a good thing. Cas decided that if there was a one thing in the universe that he cared about least in that moment, it was the movie playing in front of them. A question struck him.

“Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“I…” He struggled with wording. Castiel had lived for countless centuries, knew more languages than he cared to keep track of, and still grappled with the most basic descriptions. It was embarrassing. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop falling.”

“Falling from what?” Dean looked him in the eyes. “Heaven?”

“Heaven, grace… I don’t think I’ll ever stop. There always seems to be a new bottom.”

“Well, for my sake, I hope not.”

Without pontificating that more than necessary, Cas allowed a comfortable silence to settle. With it came a sense of tranquility he only seemed to have around Dean. In fact, he had only really started to feel it when he stepped into the bunker that night. Safety, and comfort, and _Dean._ He supposed the feeling of Dean had always been there. It was just in disguise, like everything else.

Castiel let his own rhythm fall in tune with Dean’s when he genuinely drifted off, head leaning on Cas’s shoulder. He didn’t feel the need to extract himself. When the movie ended, he switched off the TV and plugged in the laptop with his grace, not wanting Dean to lose his pillow. When Sam’s snores became just a little too loud, he silenced him with a finger to the forehead, not wanting to wake Dean. When dawn broke only a couple hours later, he still sat there, wrapped up in the Winchesters.

Sam woke up first, and still Cas sat under Dean’s warm frame. He didn’t mind. When Dean did wake up, draped over Cas’s torso, he flushed and mumbled something about needing to shower or make breakfast. Cas only stood when he left.

The three of them ate cookies and pie for breakfast, with too many leftovers to justify a need to make more food. The humans were corpse-like, both still mostly asleep, and Cas suggested they watch the sun rise. None were particularly opposed, so they shrugged on their coats and stumbled out.

Sam collapsed on one of the steps. Dean followed suit. For the first time in a long time, Cas took notice of how red everything was--not red like a spray painted sigil, or blood-splattered walls, or even the ruby lipstick of a dark-haired devil. Red like vibrancy. Red like a crisp, sunny morning. Red like Autumn.

Cas had noticed that night what Dean brought to him. The truth was, Dean was his home. It was the one rule of heaven that he had no trouble following; to love something, one thing more than life, himself and God. Something that he’d lost over generations of fighting and obedience and his mind being wiped clean over, and over again…

The morning sun fell on Home’s face, wind swept up deep scarlet leaves by his feet, and Castiel thought maybe he was in love with Fall. Maybe he was in love with something else entirely. Dean gave him a crooked smile.  
It must have been the color red.


End file.
